


Coffee

by imachar



Series: 30 ficlets series [19]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imachar/pseuds/imachar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Phil and a little beach R&R</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> The fabulous **Norfolkdumpling** made me a wonderful Pike/Boyce graphic for my birthday, and it inspired this...unbeta'd...read at your own risk.

The fog hasn't burned off yet and the morning chill creeps under Phil's collar as he settles himself on the top step of the rented airstream trailer and watches Jericho lift his leg against a rock before running down onto the sand of the pocket beach to go in search of seagulls to harass. 

Glancing back into the warm interior to see if Chris has been disturbed by the sudden incursion of cool air he smiles, fond and just a little turned-on, at the sight of him still fast asleep and sprawled across the queen-size mattress. Curled around a pillow, the comforter wrapped around his waist, he's almost close enough to touch and Phil has to resist the impulse to set his coffee aside and lean in and kiss the smooth, warm skin of an exposed shoulder. 

Exhausted from yesterday's surfing marathon and the adrenaline-fueled sex that had followed, Chris will sleep for a while yet if he's left alone and Phil takes one last look at him, relaxed in sleep and heart-stoppingly beautiful, before he turns back to the view of rock-bound coast and an ocean still as glass under its blanket of fog. 

This is the third day of their week long ramble up the Northern California coast, a late summer break before the reality of the Academy fall term starts with all its attendant stresses and strains; cadets and colleagues and competing schedules that make it so very difficult to find any kind of agenda-free quality time together. 

They've spent the last two days camped out at a secluded beach a few miles north of the long abandoned town of Fort Bragg and the legendary surf breaks of Ten Mile Beach; Chris wearing himself out on his three meter longboard while Phil relaxed on a beach chair with a six pack of IPA and James Ellroy's _LA Quartet_ on his padd. Today they'll explore this pocket cove, hiking and maybe breaking out the surf-cast rods that came with the trailer, before they head north towards Eureka and Chris's next surf stop at Centerville Beach. 

It's a perfect respite from Starfleet and Phil leans on the frame of the Airstream doorway, soaking up the tranquil sounds of the soft breeze in the grass, and the occasional squeak of an otter or a seal disturbed by Jericho's unhurried investigation of the shoreline. Behind him the sun is just beginning to break over the low coastal foothills, the pale, cold light soft and diffuse through the morning fog. 

Under-dressed in jeans and an unfastened denim shirt layered over the t-shirt he slept in, Phil shivers in the damp chill and wraps his hands around the thick purple coffee mug, appreciating the comfort that comes from the scent of dark Ethiopian roast and the feel of warm ceramic in his hands. And then, when he's almost done with the coffee and the cold has started to seep through his jeans and numb his bare feet there's a rustle of bedding behind him and a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. 

"Hey..." Chris's voice is low and sleepy, and entirely too sexy for this time in the morning, "...you feel cold..." The hand slides up Phil's nape, into the soft short silver of his hair and he leans into the touch as Chris invites, "...come back to bed and I'll warm you up."

It's far too good an offer to pass up and, with a whistle to call the dog back to the trailer, Phil lays the coffee mug aside and turns his head to accept a sweet, languid, early-morning, kiss. The coffee barely masks the aftertaste of last night's beer and Phil pulls back after a moment, his hand curved around Chris's jaw, thumb stroking gently though the morning stubble to soften his words. "I'll come back to bed after you go brush your teeth."

Chris just laughs and, waiting until the dog is inside and the trailer door is closed against the cold, throws back the comforter, stretching lazily, long and lean and naked and half-hard. "Sure, I need to piss anyway." He pulls Phil close as they pass in the narrow confines of the trailer. "Be naked by the time I get back." 

His own erection makes itself felt as he leans into the warmth of Chris's skin, and the scent of him – all bed-warmed musk – sends a spark of heat down his spine. Phil slides a hand across Chris's chest, scratching lightly through the soft silver and tan fur, teasing a thumb across an already furled nipple. "Don't be long."


End file.
